Two men were sitting in a neighborhood bar, side by side, nursing beers. They hadn’t known each other long, maybe an hour or two at most, but they had already become fast friends. The kind of friends formed instantly over beer suds and sob stories.
“So me and the old lady, we were looking for something to, ya know, put some spice back into our lives.” George settled more comfortably onto the bar stool and reached into the bowl of peanuts. “She came across this article on the Internet, about this thing called ‘sploshing.’” He cracked peanuts open briskly and tossed nuts into his mouth, one after the other.
“Sploshing?” Joe spluttered. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me. What the hell is that?”
George smiled grimly. “That, my friend, was the beginning of the end for us. It seemed simple enough. There’s these parties, see, and people show up with desserts.”
Joe nodded in a ‘go on’ gesture. “Seems harmless enough. Then what, you swop spouses or somethin’?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Everybody takes turns, ya see. First one lady puts her German chocolate cake down onto this chair, and then she lifts up her skirt and ever so dainty-like, she sits on the cake. And squishes around on it. She’s got this look on her face like, I dunno, like she’s about to have one, if ya know what I mean!”
By this point, Joe was enthralled, leaning on one arm and staring intently at George. “Then what?!” he breathed softly.
“Well, then that breaks the ice, so to speak, and everybody starts getting into it. This one couple had brung a couple a bottles of sauces – chocolate, strawberry, caramel. The kind you put on your ice cream. The guy was dripping it onto his wife’s boobies, and then in her hair and on her face. It got pretty crazy,” George reminisced, taking a swig of his beer. “Then Dolores put her cake down, the one she’d spent all day baking and decoratin’, and flips up her skirt and plops right down on top of it. It was only then I noticed…” He lowered his voice and looked around to make sure no one else was listening, “that she wasn’t wearing any panties.”
Joe rocked back on his barstool in amazement. “Jeez! Wow!”
“Yeah. That’s about the way I felt about it. I gotta tell ya, it sure put the wood back in ole George Junior.” He chuckled at his own humour. “That was some night. After we got home and showered off, we spent hours in bed together. It was better than it had been in years. But the next day, something changed between us. Dolores started acting different.”
“So, what was the problem?” Joe asked idly, twirling his beer bottle slowly between stubby fingers. “She wasn’t into it? The sploshing thing?”
“No, no, she got into it all right. That was the problem.” George sighed and pushed his baseball cap back onto his thinning hair, signaling to the barkeep, Mike, for a refill. “She wanted to do it all the time. I’d come home from work and she’d have a pineapple upside down cake in the oven. She could hardly wait until after dinner for dessert, if you know what I mean.”
Joe chuckled and nodded, turning in his seat to take in George’s expression. His own sobered up when he saw that George’s face had turned red. Obviously this was upsetting the old guy.
“She even started indulging on her own… The last straw was when I came home unexpectedly and caught her in the bedroom. She wasn’t alone,” George finished grimly. “She had opened up a whole carton of Lil’ Debbie snack cakes and was covered in them, just covered in chocolate cake and tasty cream filling.” George’s voice broke, and he covered his eyes for a moment. “I told her that was it for me. It was either me, or her new ‘hobby’. That’s when she threw me out.”
Joe sat there in silent commiseration, shaking his head slowly.
George continued on in a dull monotone. “I couldn’t believe it. Jealous of a bunch of cupcakes. They could satisfy her better than I could. How can I compete with snack cakes?”
Joe patted him clumsily on the shoulder. “Damn. I’m sorry, man.”
“Yeah, I know.” George sighed and held up two fingers to Mike, then gestured at the empty peanut bowl. “I never should have listened to her in the first place. Crazy woman.”
Mike delivered the beers and the peanuts and then walked away, shaking his head at the vagaries of women. George and Joe settled back into a mutual, contemplative silence.
Several minutes passed, and a phone was heard ringing faintly in the background. Mike picked up the phone and mumbled into it, then mumbled again. He turned towards George and said, “George Hoffman?”
George looked up glumly and nodded.
“It’s your wife. She says she’s sorry and wants you to come home.”
George’s face underwent a sudden transformation. “She does?!”
“Yeah,” Mike. “Hold on a sec. What was that, Ma’am? Uh huh. Uh huh. OK, I’ll tell him.” He hung up the phone and turned again to George with a grin on his face. “She said to tell you to stop by the bakery on your way home. She’s got a hankerin’ for German chocolate cake.”
George groaned, then slowly began banging his head against the bar.
Joe’s shoulders heaved and tears streamed from his eyes as he desperately attempted to stem his laughter. Mike walked over with a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses and placed them on the bar in front of George. It was going to be a long night.